


Drunken Bets Sometimes Lead to Hot Dates

by ladypigswagon



Series: Tumblr Prompts [19]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Drunk Shenanigans, M/M, Pre-Slash, horse riding AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 00:31:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5687644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladypigswagon/pseuds/ladypigswagon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles hates getting drunk. Well, he doesn’t actually hate it but he hates being with Jackson when he’s drunk. Because when Jackson and Stiles are drunk together, they try to outdo each other in stupid bets. Ridiculously stupid bets, usually ending up with injuries, lost articles of clothing, being arrested, waking up in strange locations or on one memorable occasion ending up on a plane to New York with a suitcase full of balloon animals and dressed like 70’s porn stars. It had taken four hours for Stiles to remove that fake mustache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Bets Sometimes Lead to Hot Dates

**Author's Note:**

> Bendywatch-candlebitch said to ladypigswagon:  
> Prompt idea if you have the time: 3 "Jackson bet me 500 dollars that I couldn't learn how to ride a horse and I don't have 500 bucks now teach me!" Stiles gets into a bet with his big mouth and hopes Peter is willing to help save his bank account. Bonus points for Steter riding double, scisaac, and loopholes because Steter are clever bastards.
> 
> This is an prompt from a while back but I reread it and thought hey, it's not as bad as I remember, let's stick it on AO3. I used to horse ride but haven't for a while so must of the stuff was from memory and no you cannot learn to ride competently in a month. It took me years and if I'm honest, I probably wasn't competent. Also the thing with the tank in traffic - yeah that totally happened to me.

Stiles hates getting drunk. Well, he doesn’t actually hate it but he hates being with Jackson when he’s drunk. Because when Jackson and Stiles are drunk together, they try to outdo each other in stupid bets. Ridiculously stupid bets, usually ending up with injuries, lost articles of clothing, being arrested, waking up in strange locations or on one memorable occasion ending up on a plane to New York with a suitcase full of balloon animals and dressed like 70’s porn stars. It had taken four hours for Stiles to remove that fake mustache.

 

Point is Jackson and Stiles need to be supervised when drinking together. Which last night, they allegedly were. By Scott. Who got distracted by the boy with blonde curls from his intro to biology class and therefore was not paying attention when Jackson and Stiles did two lines of shots and started challenging each other.

 

“I bet,” Jackson, slurs, slamming the shot glass on the table and pointing at Stiles with a manicured finger. Stiles knows that gender is a social construct or whatever but it’s Jackson and Jackson is so polished that he might as well be a ken doll.

 

“I bet 500 dollars that you can’t learn to ride a horse in a month.”

 

“I fucking can,” Stiles retorts. His vision is starting to go funny, there are at least three Jackson’s and Stiles isn’t sure at which one he should wag his finger.

 

“Alright Stilinski, it’s on!”

 

They shake hands as Scott wanders back over, a napkin clasped in his hand presumably with blonde boy’s phone number on it. His joyful expression becomes one of abject horror when he sees Jackson and Stiles clasping hands, both too drunk to do any damage but still valiantly trying to crush each other’s fingers.

 

Stiles is never one to back down from a challenge. Also he doesn’t have 500 dollars just lying around to spare, he’s a poor college student. Unlike Jackson, who inherited a fuckton of money at 18 and also has a nice, comfortable trust fund. Rich people, Jesus H Christ.

 

These two reasons explain why Stiles is standing outside Hale’s Stables at ass o’ clock in the morning, chugging coffee like it’s ambrosia. He’s not wearing sunglasses to hide his bloodshot eyes but after looking the in the wing mirror of his jeep, he thinks he probably should of done. He downs a couple of Advil to cure the pounding headache that’s raging through his skull then rolls his shoulders to psych himself up. Horse riding, not potentially life threatening or dangerous at all.

 

He walks towards what he assumes is an office of some kind. Stiles is judging it by the computer he can spot in the window. Cora Hale is sat behind the desk, cross-legged on the chair. She’s reading a psychology textbook with an expression that implies that she’s gonna learn all of this whether it kills her. To be fair, she has a resting bitch face naturally.

 

“Hey Cora,” Stiles says. Her eyes flick up. Her expression changes minutely.

 

“Stiles,” Cora replies, shutting the textbook. “Why are you here?”

 

“Because I made a stupid bet with Jackson and your parents own a riding stable so you need to teach me to ride so that I don’t end up forking over 500 dollars to that pretentious nimrod.”

 

Cora snorts.

 

“I thought you’d have this big elaborate lie,” Cora says, leaning back in her chair to put her feet on the desk. “But you were just completely upfront about it.”

 

“I figured that was the best policy,” Stiles replies, folding his arms.

 

“So why here?” Cora asks. Stiles smirks, raising an eyebrow. Cora narrows her eyes.

 

“No,” Cora says, “No, no, no, no, no, you are not calling it in for this.”

 

“You owe me Cora, I’m calling it in.”

 

“For this Stiles, really?!”

 

Stiles shrugs. Cora grits her teeth, swinging her feet off the desk.

 

“So, lessons!” Stiles says gleefully, “As many as possible. I want to at least be competent so I can shove it in Jackson’s photo-shopped face.”

 

“I hate you Stiles,” Cora grumbles, bringing up a calendar onto the computer screen.

 

“When I am 500 dollars richer I’ll take you to dinner.”

 

“You better.”

 

Stiles, who on a good day has a habit of causing himself minor/serious injury just by existing, is taking no chances with horse riding. It’s a risk sport for a reason. So along with the standard riding hat and body protector, Stiles has on his old lacrosse knee and elbow pads. Cora snorts when she sees him, snapping a picture, which she says she hasn’t sent to Jackson but she probably has. Stiles sometimes wonders why they’re friends. Then he remembers that Cora once punched Jackson so hard that he was blind for an hour and that’s why.

 

“You are going to be on lead rein for at least a week,” Cora comments, adjusting the straps on the body protector so that it fits better, “You really don’t need elbow pads.”

 

“Cora, I once was laughing at a tank caught in traffic, turned round and whacked my face into a street light and got a nose bleed.”

 

“So?”

 

“ _So_ , I have a habit of injuring myself, it’s actually a character trait.”

 

Cora rolls her eyes, handing him gloves and a whip. Stiles swishes the whip through the air enjoying the sound. He stops when Cora gives him an unimpressed look. He shrugs, trying to look nonchalant whilst inside he’s trying to remain balanced on his feet so he doesn’t crash into the rows of saddles behind him.

 

“Now because this is a stupid bet,” Cora says, leading Stiles from the tack room and out into the yard, “And you’re probably never going to ride after you win the bet, I won’t make you tack up and untack the horse. You’ll just do it wrong.”

 

“Your confidence is inspiring,” Stiles mutters. Cora punches him in the arm, but it’s playful. Still hurts though.

 

Cora leads him into the stables. It’s cool in there, smelling faintly of hay and a strange, musty smell of horses. Most of the stables are occupied, a wide range of horses. Stiles doesn’t know breeds, he just knows color. Some tan, some black, some grey. One giant black and white one with hooves that could probably crush Stiles to a mushy pulp.

 

Cora opens the second to last stable door, ushering Stiles inside. The horse is a moderate size, the color of rusted metal and already suited and booted so to speak. The reins are red and white striped fabric, woven together into a thick yarn. The saddle is hard plastic and the cotton-quilted numnah is a faded peach color.

 

“This is Fergus,” Cora says, patting the horse on the neck. Fergus continues to munch on hay and is seemingly uninterested in Stiles internal freak out. But, he’s not going to forfeit, especially not to the likes of Jackson so he swallows his panic and mentally slaps himself.

 

“Well,” a voice drawls from behind Stiles, “He’s certainly well prepared.”

 

Stiles spins round. Standing in the doorway is Cora’s attractive but painfully-out-of-Stiles-league Uncle Peter. And wow those jodhpurs leave nothing to the imagination. Stiles has only really met Peter in passing; he’s a riding instructor at the stables and used to be an Olympic champion in his youth. Stiles has hung out at the Hale house a couple of times but mostly in Cora’s room and even then, he’s only met Talia and her husband, Mark properly. Peter drifts in and out, usually out as in out on dates with various men or women. It’s not a crush per say, more an appreciation for Peter’s physical attributes.

 

“He has a habit of breaking limbs,” Cora replies, her arm brushing Stiles as she passes him. She claps a hand on Peter’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Try not to damage him too much.”

 

“Wait? You’re not gonna teach me?” Stiles asks. Cora laughs.

 

“I have better things to do like revise for my psychology exam.”

 

“Relax Stiles,” Peter, says, shrugging out of Cora’s grip to step closer to Stiles, “You’re in capable hands.”

 

And yeah, that shouldn’t be a turn on.

 

 

 

Despite Stiles balance problems when he’s on the ground, he actually isn’t too unbalanced on a horse. He manages to teach himself to lean back not forward and though his grip on the reins is a little bit tight, overall he’s almost competent. It helps that Peter is holding onto a large purple lead rein, which is clipped to the horse’s bridle and thus Stiles knows the horse isn’t going to run riot at the sight of a leaf blowing in the wind or something.

 

Stiles attraction to Peter aside; Peter is actually a good teacher. He uses multiple teaching methods, clearly eager to teach Stiles in a way that actually gets through to him as opposed to repetition of Stiles mistakes. Stiles ends the lesson feeling slightly sweaty but happy. He’s got this, Jackson will fork over the money and Stiles can’t wait to rub it in his face.

 

“So, when’s the next lesson?” Stiles asks, taking off the riding hat. His hair is damp with sweat, it’s sticking up all over the place. Peter removes the saddle and girth before answering.

 

“Whenever you are next available, I understand that you have college to think about.”

 

“As soon as possible man, I only have a month to learn this competently.”

 

“Then perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Peter replies. There’s a glint in his eye and a lewdness about his smile but Stiles figures that’s just how Peter is. There’s no way he’s be attracted to Stiles. No way.

 

 

 

Stiles spends two weeks on lead rein. The moment that he’s off, that’s when the panic sets in. Because instead of having Peter beside him, Peter is in the middle of the school, shouting instructions and usually dragging tiny jumps out of the way. Stiles hasn’t done anything faster than walk but the fear is real.

 

“You need to relax,” Peter says, handing Stiles the bridle. Stiles tries to hold it in a way that it won’t get tangled. It’s been mostly unsuccessful so far.

 

“That’s easy for you to say,” Stiles retorts, “You’re an Olympic champion. I am 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone. I am clumsy and not in the cute, Mary-sue kind of way, the kind of way that results in multiple hospital visits. I might as well get a loyalty card, ten broken bones get your eleventh cast free.”

 

Peter chuckles. It’s a rich sound and satisfying, like the crunch of leaves in autumn. He moves the saddle so that it’s balancing on one arm before placing his other hand on Stiles shoulder. The squeeze is firm but gentle. Stiles avoids thinking about Peter’s hands in other locations. Stiles is firmly in the ‘I’m joking but if you were down for it’ camp in terms of his attraction to Peter.

 

“Just trust me and your natural ability,” Peter says, which cuts through Stiles inappropriate train of thought. “You are going to do this and you’ll be 500 dollars richer. Then you can take me to dinner as a thank you for all my hard work and effort.”

 

“Right ok,” Stiles says, joking along. Then he realizes what Peter has just said. “Wait what?”

 

 

 

 

“So,” Scott asks as he tumbles off the rainbow road, “Do you like him?”

 

“I don’t know,” Stiles, replies, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. He chews and swallows before continuing. “I definitely find him attractive and he’s funny and a pretty good teacher.”

 

“But?” Scott prompts.

 

“But, we’re at two different points in our lives, he’s settled in his life you know and I’m just starting mine. I’ve been an adult for about five minutes.”

 

“So, if he likes you, you should go for it.” Scott, the eternal optimist. Stiles shrugs, munching on more popcorn and sliding into first place.

 

“So how’s it going with Isaac?”

 

“Great, he’s so funny and…”

 

Stiles listens to Scott wax lyrical about Isaac Lahey’s many, many attributes and tries to avoid thinking about Peter Hale.

 

 

 

 

“It’s only a small jump you can do it.”

 

“No, I can’t,” Stiles, replies, slightly hysterically, “That requires me to lean forward and leaning forward encourages the horse to go faster and I’m just not ready for that.”

 

Peter rubs the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. It’s an expression that Stiles is familiar with. Mostly on his father’s face. And teachers. Sometimes Scott’s. And most recently Isaac’s.

 

“We’ve done this in walk,” Peter says, placing a hand on Stiles thigh. Stiles elects to keep looking at Peter’s face and not think about how warm Peter’s hand is. “It’s the same basic principle.”

 

“I know we’ve only got a couple of days left,” Stiles replies, “But I don’t even have to be competent. Jackson only bet that I couldn’t learn to ride a horse in a month, there was no requirement for jumping or anything beyond walk really.”

 

“Surely you want to show off,” Peter says, his thumb rubbing gentle circles across Stiles thigh, “Really show Jackson what you’ve learnt.”

 

“You’re a bastard you know that.”

 

Peter grins. It’s sharp and somewhat predatory. Stiles certainly does not think about it whilst jumping.

 

 

 

 

“You’re not going to be able to do this,” Jackson scoffs from behind the fence, arms folded and expression smug.

 

“I would like to invite you to bite me Jackson,” Stiles retorts. As comebacks go, it’s not brilliant but hey Stiles is nervous. He tightens the reigns, breathing out through his nose and adjusting his posture. He tries not to think about Scott, Jackson, Cora and Isaac staring at him like he’s a performing monkey in a cage.

 

“Relax,” Peter says. Stiles looks down at him from his position on high. Peter smiles at him, not his usual smirk but a genuine smile. It makes Stiles feel warm and fuzzy inside.

 

“I got this right?” Stiles enquires. Peter pats Stiles thigh affectionately.

 

“Of course.”

 

“Let’s get on with it,” Jackson shouts. He looks bored. Stiles wants to punch him but he’ll settle for showing off.

 

Stiles squeezes his knees and guides Fergus into a swift walk. Once he’s completed a circle of the arena, he kicks Fergus into a rising trot. He does a few school movements, from a serpentine to a 20-meter circle, all in trot. Peter has set up a few small jumps and Stiles does them all. And finally, just to really kick Jackson in the proverbial balls, he kicks Fergus into a canter, coming round to stop in front of Jackson, whose mouth is so wide a bus could drive through it.

 

“I can’t believe it.”

 

“Well you had better, hand over the cash Jackson.”

 

Jackson grumbles as he rummages around in his pockets. Stiles grins, dismounting and snatching the money from Jackson’s hands. He fans himself with it, cackling manically.

 

“Suck it Bitchmore!”

 

“Yeah, yeah Stilinski,” Jackson mutters, scowling and walking off in the direction of his Porsche.

 

“Well done Stiles,” Isaac says. Stiles knows that Isaac wants to say something really sarcastic but he’s trying to make a good impression for Scott’s sake. Stiles can’t wait for when Isaac stops caring.

 

“Drinks on you right?” Cora enquires. Stiles removes his riding hat, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

 

“Actually,” Peter cuts in, looping his arm into Stiles, “Stiles promised me dinner.”

 

“Yeah I did,” Stiles says, “Sorry guys, but I’ve got a date with a hot riding instructor.”

 

Even Cora’s sickened expression can’t bring Stiles down.

**Author's Note:**

> [Check out my writing Tumblr for one hit wonders](http://ladypigswagon.tumblr.com)


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